


An Island

by bennyslegs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Face-Fucking, M/M, Watersports, Wetting, throat-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyslegs/pseuds/bennyslegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock pisses himself in a taxi after a case, mostly into John's cupped hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Island

**Author's Note:**

> so... wow hello. i don't write things like this often, or ever. so... please go gentle! 
> 
> this came from a quick thing i wrote for my friends askbox, until today i was cleaning out my laptop i found it and filled it out a bit. i'm sorry if my word use is a bit repetitive, like i said - i really don't write things like this often! it was just really to see how much i could turn /myself/ on, and wow did it work.
> 
> also, the POV changes a little here and there, because it came from such a rough quick thing - but i liked parts too much to change, so i hope thats not too much of a bother.
> 
> i hope you enjoy, anyway! there's definitely not enough johnlock + watersports on here, so adding to it makes me happy, even if it's not the best :')
> 
> all mistakes are my own, not beta-d, just... straight up posted i'm gomen!

In the back of a taxi, after a particularly long, drawn out case, Sherlock's shifting uncomfortably. He's held his bladder for far too long, too wrapped up in everything to think about it. He's done this for as long as he can remember, but always alone, until he'd met John – it wasn't long until John cottoned on (he wasn't always stupid) and indulged Sherlock's kink with him happily.

Sherlock squirms and holds his crotch like a child, cheeks red and lips parted, not even bothering to hide it. He's breathing heavy. John tells him to hold it, to stop making a scene, if it's not showing off, it's this - just stop it, and Sherlock whines. It begins. He starts to rub his dick through his trousers, slowly at first then roughly, and John's starting to fidget, too - He bats Sherlock's hands away and puts his left hand there instead. 

"If you can't even hold yourself properly without making a show of it, I’ll have to do it for you. You're a huge child, I hope you know that. I swear if you piss yourself in this taxi..." His tone is angry, and Sherlock shivers and feels his cock thicken despite the pressure on his bladder. John's going to feel it soon, too. The anticipation causes Sherlock to shiver more. Fuck. He loves this.

Sure enough, after a few seconds John shoots him a filthy look and almost goes to take his hand away, before he sees Sherlock grin lazily. John isn't really angry. He never is – this is all part of the game, and Sherlock loves every minute.

"You little prick, you think this is funny? I'll show you funny..." John pushes his hand down onto Sherlock's aching cock and squeezes, hard, and Sherlock gasps, feeling himself let go just a little, the smallest amount of piss leaking out. He holds it back, which hurts - but only adds to his excitement. John's face is inches from Sherlock's now. Obviously he'd felt Sherlock’s crotch wet underneath his hand, even if just the smallest amount. John was oblivious at the best of times, but not with this. John was like a greyhound to the smell of Sherlock's piss – Sherlock actually admired it.

He looks furious, but Sherlock can feel the arousal radiating off him. Can see the flush over his neck, his cheeks – his chest, in the gap where his shirt buttons are undone. Loves this.

"You're disgusting, you're absolutely foul. You wait 'til you get home." He bites down on Sherlock's neck as soon as he finishes the last word, and he feels Sherlock shudder violently underneath him and let go right then. Feels Sherlock's crotch becoming hotter and wetter, his hand now holding onto damp, sodden material. Can feel the new waves of fresh piss, dripping between his fingers and soaking through to the backseat underneath. John almost mourns it, can't enjoy it if it's soaked into some random sod's backseat – but it was unavoidable, considering the circumstances. 

John moans low in his throat and pushes his hand down further, feeling more and more piss escaping Sherlock's cock, and he's not *stopping* and John thinks they're going to be in serious trouble with the taxi driver but he can't care right now, he sucks down hard on Sherlock's neck, tastes the sweat there, nervous, aroused sweat from holding his bladder for so long, but also from exertion, from running from here to there on the case - and Sherlock's hands come up to the back of John's head, fingers attempting to hold onto John's short hair roughly, almost painfully, and Sherlock is *still going* (He holds it for far too long, John's always told him it's bad for him, just like the smoking, but Sherlock doesn't listen and John finds this time he can't help but appreciate that) and then it's over, a faint dribbling and then nothing. 

John can feel Sherlock's cock thick and heavy in his damp trousers and underwear, begging to be touched, skin on skin, but he won't give in yet - He rubs Sherlock's crotch some more, enjoying the warmth and the smell, that fucking smell - before finally undoing Sherlock's zip, the smell of piss thick in the air. He gropes into Sherlock's dripping underwear (expensive, ruined) and brings his face from Sherlock's neck to in front of his face, takes in the blown pupils, the brilliant blush of combined arousal and embarrassment, and drinks it all in as he wanks Sherlock roughly, using piss for lubricant and humping his own hips awkwardly at Sherlock's side. 

Sherlock's mouth falls open as he gets closer, soft pink tongue sticking out occasionally to lick at his own plump lips, whilst staring into John's eyes. His own eyes heavily lidded, so close to the edge. He's gripping John's shoulders now whilst huffing soft breaths, and John's scar is complaining, but he'll worry about that later. John shoves his face back into Sherlock's neck, taking deep pulls off Sherlock's skin whilst whispering “you're terrible” and “absolutely vile”, words he knows set Sherlock off like mad.

He ups his pace and tightens his stroke upwards towards the tip of Sherlock's cock, working his wet foreskin back and forth until he feels Sherlock shudder and gasp in warning seconds before he coats John's hand, hot just like the piss but thick and filthy and disgusting in the best way, the smell of sex adding to the smell of piss making John feel dizzy, his cock positively straining and desperate for something, anything, getting impatient with being made to wait.

They sit there, sharing breath as the cab conveniently comes to stop outside 221b. (or maybe it was there all along, but they were too wrapped up.) John's grateful, he needs to sort himself out, (and the mess in Sherlock's pants) and fast. He clears his throat, and fumbles in his pocket (with his dry hand) for the money to pay the driver. The driver looks at both of them, appalled. 

"Make it £150, and I'll ignore the piss soaking into my backseat" John can feel his cheeks starting to flush bright red and he apologises profusely and produces more cash, throwing it into the front of the car. Sherlock smirks from ear to ear as John shoves him roughly out the car and up the stairs, all the way into the bathroom where he strips him off (can't resist holding Sherlock's sodden underwear to his nose, his mouth, before tossing them) and orders him to kneel on the floor, to be punished for being an embarrassment, for making a scene and making a mess of the taxi, and costing John so much money. 

Sherlock kneels willingly, knows he deserves it, is already opening his mouth, holding his arms behind his back and laying his tongue flat, they've done this time and time before and it's never boring and that's surprising, but before he can think about it too much John's already stripped off himself and wastes no time in shoving his fully hard cock into Sherlock's mouth, his hands holding the sides of Sherlock's face softly, at first, then roughly – encouraging Sherlock to get to work, so to say. 

Sherlock breathes through his nose as he works his tongue over John's heavy cock, revels in the weight of it in his mouth and the smell of John's sweat and arousal, strong in his nose. John is holding on uncomfortably hard to Sherlock's face, hands splayed and controlling how deep he goes - which only adds to Sherlock's growing excitement (his cock twitches, interested, but not ready to get fully hard yet) 

John pushes himself deeper into Sherlock's mouth, past his back teeth and into his throat, groaning above and Sherlock burrows his nose in John's pubes smelling deeply, enjoying the feel of John full and secure in his throat, his favourite part – as John holds him there, until 5 seconds becomes 10 seconds, until Sherlock's eyes start to water in earnest and he whines before John pulls out and away, a thick line of spit from Sherlock's throat to the top of John's cock, hanging heavily, connecting them.

Sherlock licks it up, can't be leaving a mess, makes his way towards John's cock and licks around the foreskin hungrily, as John impatiently nudges his cock at Sherlock's lips, wanting to feel the tightness of Sherlock's throat again and Sherlock permits him, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, but he is not a fragile wilting flower – far from, and John knows it, loves that Sherlock submits to him, gets off on it. Sherlock closes his eyes and lets John use his throat, can feel John trembling, getting closer.

Sherlock laves his tongue against John's balls enthusiastically as John pumps into his throat, his rhythm faltering ever so slightly. Holding himself there for seconds, gripping onto Sherlock's face, using his throat in any which way he wants. Sherlock can predict the bruises on his cheekbones that willfollow after John's hard grip. Can hear John whispering under his breath above him, head thrown back, various sentiments, “so perfect, so beautiful..” Which never interested Sherlock in the slightest, but John liked to say them so Sherlock shrugged it off.

He can feel John's cock thickening further, twitching, can feel John's hands leaving his cheeks and tangling in his hair, holding on tight, jolts of pain shooting through Sherlock's scalp which makes him choke more – as John comes with a drawn out grunt, filling Sherlock's throat generously as Sherlock swallows, feeling the pressure of John's come hitting the back of his throat, making his eyes water, tears falling freely. 

At this point it's both a punishment and a prize, Sherlock revels in the idea of both, and swallows until John is finished, gasping for air as John pulls out wetly, saliva and come trailing out afterwards making a mess of Sherlock's lips, which he licks at as John moves away and kneels beside him, taking Sherlock's head in his hands once again but softer now, lovingly. Wiping away his tears, kissing his sore cheeks.

“I went easy on you this time, Sherlock, I hope you realise that. Next time I’ll piss down your throat, do you hear me? Do not” He lifts Sherlock's chin upwards uncomfortably, for no real reason at all other than to inspect Sherlock's throat apparently, “Ever. Do that again. Do you understand?” Sherlock nods and his heart surges with love for this contradiction of a man. The soft touch before, the caring doctor, quickly replaced with force, and threats. Sherlock could go again, but he could sense how tired John was, he'd dragged him all around London and although Sherlock felt no guilt (John loved it, would never stop loving it) he knew John was grouchy without a decent nights sleep. 

He knows it'll happen again. John knows, too. Sherlock hopes he sticks to his threat.

John takes a wet flannel and cleans up Sherlock's face, gives him a whores bath and wipes around his crotch gently. He prefers Sherlock not to shower instantly after, likes the smell of sex to linger on him which Sherlock is more than welcome to agree to. John helps Sherlock to his feet, (Sherlock refuses to make it known how much his knees hurt) and, out of nowhere, hugs him around his chest, laying his head over Sherlock's heart. Sherlock stills, before wrapping his arms around John and holding him tightly, in that moment realising just how precious the small man in his arms was, his partner and lover and, dare he admit to it, his other half. Who indulged his sexual preferences, accompanied him on cases, lived with him despite his black moods. He'd spent his life thinking of himself as whole, alone, and fine that way. An island. Touching nothing and letting nothing touch him.

Until he met John, and realised how wrong he'd been.


End file.
